


give me your strength (our life is so short)

by orlesiantitans



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: “It’s stupid. I kind of knew I’d die when I joined the Scouts, at some point or another. I pretty much did. But I wasn’t as scared then as I am now,” his eyes slide from Jean to the wall ahead of him. “I mean. To know when it’ll happen makes me realise how much I haven’t done. How much I probably won’t do.”
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	give me your strength (our life is so short)

**Author's Note:**

> set in the anime-verse. flexing the writing muscles, it's been a while, just needed to get something down. enjoy!

_ Thirteen years. _

It’s true that Armin had always known, deep down, that he could die at any point. Joining the scouts is a death sentence - everyone knows that - but he’d still signed up. He doesn’t even  _ regret _ it, because he knows he’s done good. They’d reclaimed Wall Maria, and in the moments after that victory he’d stared at the house he’d shared with his grandfather and wondered if he’d be proud of what he’d done. 

He thought of the people he’s had to kill or leave behind, of those who died because he lost his nerve, and had to turn away from the house where that innocent child used to live. 

But for all he's done, it doesn't mean that thirteen years feels like enough when they're only just getting some semblance of peace.

His room isn’t anything fancy, but it has a bed and there aren’t any titans - something that certainly puts it above most of the places he’s slept in recently. His fingers ache from sitting writing down everything Eren remembered from his father’s memories, and his mind spins from the guilt of what he’d done to live. 

His stomach aches with bile once again, and the words  _ I ate Bertolt  _ circle around his mind. He needs to get out, he needs a moment away from his thoughts.

Going back down to the cells doesn’t sit right with him, and Sasha is still recovering. That leaves only one person he can realistically visit (because he doesn’t really want to spend time with either of his senior officers). 

Knocking three times on the door, he waits to hear a ‘come in’, but is surprised when the door opens to reveal Jean instead, chest bare and sleeping pants loose around his waist. Armin’s mouth gapes open and closed for a few moments before he clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

Raising his eyebrows, Jean steps off to the side. “Sure. What’re you doing up, anyway? It’s late.”

“Can’t sleep,” Armin mutters, sitting down on the bed - since it appears to be the only flat object in the room other than the floor - and wraps his arms around himself. 

Sitting next to him, Jean looks a little perplexed before he flushes and looks away, muttering something unintelligible to himself as he fishes out of a t-shirt. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m going to die in thirteen years.”

The words are matter of fact, stated with very little inflection, but it’s clear Jean is a little taken aback. He stares at the blond for a few seconds, speechless, and Armin laughs without humour. 

“It’s stupid. I kind of knew I’d die when I joined the Scouts, at some point or another. I pretty much did. But I wasn’t as scared then as I am now,” his eyes slide from Jean to the wall ahead of him. “I mean. To know _ when _ it’ll happen makes me realise how much I haven’t done. How much I probably won’t do.”

Frowning, Jean nudges his shoulder. “Hey. Don’t talk like that. You’ve gotta be the optimist, talking about how we’ll find a way to fix things, all that shit. I’m the one who’s meant to bring everyone back down again.”

A wet laugh escapes Armin, “Right.”

_ When did I start crying? _

Another hand beats him to it, wiping away the moisture on his cheek. He leans into it, subconsciously, and hears a sharp intake of breath from Jean. “What?” Armin asks, and notes that Jean’s throat bobs with a swallow, and his cheeks flush before he stands. 

“Nothing.”

“The back of your neck’s red.”

“How the hell did you even notice that?”

Jean turns around to look at him, and his eyes are wild, and his face is red too. Giving a one shouldered shrug, Armin keeps his eyes centered on Jean’s face. “Isn’t that why people keep me around? Because I’m good at noticing things?”

“That’s not the only reason,” Jean protests, but it’s weak. Armin knows it’s weak, because that’s the only reason he’s alive. If his mind wasn’t as sharp as it is, Erwin would have received the injection and consumed Bertolt, and he’d be the one still alive. 

_ He almost was, anyway _ . 

Standing up, Armin moves closer to Jean, eyes still focused on his face. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Jean asks. The words are on a breath, and he makes no effort to fill his lungs again. 

Armin’s eyes narrow, “Like  _ that _ ,” he repeats, and Jean just makes a pained noise before leaning in to steal a kiss. An indignant squeak leaves Armin, and he pulls back after a second, wide eyed. 

Jean looks petrified, as if he just killed someone instead of kissing them. Armin feels a little indignant, in a way, that his first kiss had just been taken like that. “I’m sorry,” Jean manages to force out after a moment. “I’m sorry, that was out of li - mph!”

The way Armin surges forwards to take another kiss is… out of character for him. Normally, such a rash action could be reserved for the likes of Eren who always acts without thinking. But Armin has just found out he only has thirteen years to live, and he feels like he has the right to do something without thinking. His fingers tangle desperately in Jean’s hair, and he is fairly sure his inexperience is obvious to anyone with a set of eyes. 

Fingers moving to the bottom of the t-shirt Jean had thrown on, Armin fumbles his hands underneath it until his wrists are locked in a vice grip. “Watch it. You’ll make me do something we really shouldn’t,” Jean murmurs, and Armin is breathing heavily and he wants to say  _ but I want to _ , but he knows that probably won’t help. Perhaps part of him wants to - but he also knows he’s not ready. His hands are shaking and he’s just found out he’s going to die before he’s thirty, and he’s scared and they almost died a short while ago. 

It’s not the time. Still, it stings like a rejection, and he glances awkwardly away. Jean shakes his head at his expression. “No.  _ No _ , Armin, trust me, I want to. I do. But not like this,” he scratches the back of his head. “Not when I’ve just stolen your first kiss. At least let me make it. I don’t know. Special?”

It seems funny, to want to make it ‘special’. As if they’ve not already been to hell and back. But perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing, for them to have something that’s just for  _ them _ , something that they can have that  _ means _ something. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” he asks, tugging on his sleeves, and Jean’s lips twitch up. 

“ _ Suuure _ . So long as you actually sleep. Don’t keep me up all night,” he replies, and Armin laughs as well. 

_ Maybe, if I find something worth living for, I’ll find a way to live into my thirties, and after that,  _ he thinks, after Jean’s breathing has evened out.  _ Why should I just accept what we’re being told? Nothing is ever as simple as it seems. We defeated the Titans outside - now I just have to defeat the one inside me.  _


End file.
